It's the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time. - Tallulah Bankhead

Food and Drink

03 August 2009

The mojito is such a quintessential summertime drink, and having been the victim of an overachieving mint plant this year, it seemed churlish not to put the demanding herb to its best use. Not long ago I was introduced to a twist on the classic by the lovely folks at Pappagone (it's a nicea place to stuffa you face) which introduced watermelon into the formula. I was sceptical, but it only took a few sips to convince. I've been trying to get the recipe right at home since, and I think I may have cracked it.

Ingredients

12 mint leaves

2 shots white rum (I used Applewood's)

3/4 shot fresh lime juice

1/4 shot gomme syrup

Watermelon chunks (about the size of your fist)

ice cubes

Method

Put the rum and mint in a cocktail shaker (or the glass will do) and muddle slightly to bruise the mint leaves. Add the gomme syrup (or a mixture of 2 parts sugar to 1 part water is fine) and lime juice. If you're using a shaker add a couple of ice cubes and give it a good shake. Remove the seeds from the watermelon (if that sort of thing bothers you, I'm from good southern stock and we like the crunchy bits) and put in a blender along with 6-10 ice cubes. Pulse to produce a kind of watermelony crushed ice. Pour the rum/mint mixture into your glass first, followed by the watermelony ice, and stir to mix. Et voilà! This makes about a pint, which if you're anything like me, serves one. More dainty folk can probably get two drinks out of it.

27 May 2008

I've started a new blog, all about food glorious food. It's called The Gannet. You can find a link in the column to your left (or right, if you are standing on your head, or I've changed the layout on a whim). Just getting things built up before moving it to its own home. I will be putting all of my food-related stuff there from now on. Do stop by and let me know what you think!

Somehow we managed to avoid food altogether until after 7pm today. It was one of "those sleep late, walk directly to computer, loose 5 hours" days. When our bodies finally triggered the alarm, we realised we had no food in the house and we opted to stroll through Clissold Park and enjoy the sunny evening, heading for Mercado, our local Mexican cantina.

When Mercado opened, it struggled with a lot of negative feedback from patrons, who (I felt) didn't have a real appreciation of Mexican cooking. The British palate associates Mexican food with what I would call Tex-Mex : nachos, fajitas and chimichangas. Mercado was dishing up more authentic fare : mole , pasilla and salsa verde sauces for example. Eventually the restaurant conceded and added fajitas and burritos to the menu. It seems to be working for them - the restaurant was nearly full on this Sunday evening.

Unfortunately on this visit I have to say I was not impressed. It was the third time I've eaten there. Last visit I had Coctel de Camaron which I found too sweet (but put that down to my taste) and the Carne Asada which I found a bit unexciting. On this visit things didn't improve.

I started with Queso Fundido - basically a bowl of melted cheese - or a kind of Mexican fondue, if you will. Usually the recipe involves several types of cheese (Monterey Jack, Mozzarella or Manchego typically), some poblano chiles, maybe some red pepper, and some wine. Mercado's version was a duller affair - simply cheese with a few chuncks of chorizo thrown in. It did the job but it didn't bear repeating. Damon had what the menu called "Quesadillas", which were not made with tortillas as expected, but instead were more like an empanada. Filled with cheese, they too were quite bland, but saved by the addition of some guacamole and warm salsa on the plate.

They were out of my first choice - Chiles En Nogada (poblano chiles stuffed with beef or vegetables) so we both opted for Burritos. Though the menu described them in the plural, it was really one large burrito cut in half. The filling was a very bland mixture of ground beef and onion, wrapped in a flour tortilla and topped with some guacamole, lettuce and sour cream, and accompanied by a dull tasting red rice. We had to ask for a bottle of hot sauce just to give the burrito a bit of flavour.

Add to this that our margaritas (we tried the Fallen Angelita) came served with a rim of sugar, not salt, and it was not a meal to write home about. Had we not been so rampantly hungry I'm sure our disappointment would have been greater.

Service was okay: not good, not bad. Two margaritas, two beers, two bottles of water and the bill came to £48 for two. We won't be rushing back again.

01 July 2005

Oh dear oh dear. Funny how life really knows how to kick you when you're down. So god or goddess of eternal unhappiness is sat on a celestial mountain top somewhere, filing their nails and thinking to themselves, what does Allison really need right now? How can I up the ante? I know : a £5k tax bill should just about do the trick....

Oh flipping 'eck. What are you going to do? I am starting to feel like there is a mystical conspiracy to drive me out of the UK. It's like I'm in a huge garden maze and every path is a dead end, and the only exit drops off into a huge abyss.

Well, I just have to soldier on, I guess. So I wrote to teh tax office and explain that actually, I don't have that much spare change right now so would they just, err, like to get in line. Form an orderly queue. This is London, after all. No one is actually living within their means, are they?

Yeah so what else? Well, the thing with -C- went pretty much as expected. He accepted it, semi-graciously, which I'm really happy about. Okay well there;s 2% of me that wanted him to come to his senses and realise what an amazing, incredible catch I am and that to let me slip through his fingers will be the mistake he spends the rest of his days regretting.... but you know, I'm not and he won't. Let's be realistic here. I'm sad though, mourning the passing of some great physical interaction, and also the trust and confidence that was between us. I know we will still remain friends but I also know it will never quite be the same.

A good, dear dear friend, -J-, came around last night to console me in my time of financial and emotional depression. She was really wonderful, supportive and helpful. She even took notes and made me a "mind map" which is kind of scary, especially the bits added after the third bottle of wine, but you know... it might just come in handy. I really appreciate the company and the compassion. We ate a fabulous thai take-away from a new place called Lemongrass which will be getting many more of my quids in future. I didn't take any photos.

29 June 2005

Today was a real humdinger of a day. Starting out with the French pissing me off. You schedule an afternoon meeting, and they call your office at 10.30am to say they will be there in 15 minutes. Bloody typical arrogant (insert racist or nationalist stereotypes here)... so well, I couldn't get there in time because I had a band staying and a passport to renew and well.. you know, I couldn't be arsed. It's okay though, my fearless colleague handled it for me.

Then the letter from Flynn... see last entry.

Then, work. Busy, of course. Yesterday's craziness was, thankfully, put to rest, so I was in a pretty positive mood. (Never mind that the Rover just stopped in the middle of Wightman Road today on the way to the office. Just plain stopped. The B-52's "Devil In My Car" was playing ((and I was singing very loudly, and badly)) when it happened. Spooky coincidence? No, I think just a temperamental electrical system. I put the hazards on, got out, popped the hood, fiddled with a few wires and was off on my way again. I always feel so proud of myself, particularly when I am wearing a halter top and sparkly kitten-heeled sandals, grappling with The Beast and winning. There was a street sweeper stood next to me on the sidewalk, smiling in wonderment.) And at work... well, still not focusing on things as much as I'd like, but... getting there. I accomplished quite a few things today and felt pretty satisfied with myself.

It was supposed to be storming today. Well, the usually reliable BBC weather site said that it was going to be stormy. (Another bit of my insanity : I look at the 5 day forecast, in Fahrenheit, because I still don't get Celsius. Anyway, the 5-day said thundery storms today. So I clicked on the 24 hour forecast, and it said it was going to be sunny all day. Do you know what I did? I wrote to the BBC and complained. It's an American thing, I guess. Or maybe it's just a crazy old woman thing.) Anyone who has read my blogs, or stood next to me in a thunder storm, knows the effect they have on me. I was kind of antsy all day in anticipation. Then someone whispered some absolute filth in my ear during the afternoon. Shocking. I was paralyzed. You know, in a good way. It took me a good 30 minutes to regain my composure.

Towards the end of the day, one of my Flickr chums drove me into a wild state of hamburger desire, and I had to go to the supermarket to get the fixin's. Just as I was leaving the market, the sky was starting to darken and rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. Ooooh! Tantalizingly, the storm actually took ages to arrive, finally breaking an hour or so later when I was in the kitchen preparing my burger. I had the back door open and there was all this fantastically loud thunder and brilliant lightning, and heaps of water pounding down. I was driven into such a frenzy by the storm and the impending burger than I actually burnt three of the four buns under the grill while trying to get it together. I kept getting drawn onto the back step and, well, I just lost it a bit, okay?

Finally the burger was ready, and it was a glorious, two-fisted, gob-full of a messy meat orgy, too. Quenched all my burger longings. I put some pictures up on Flickr or course, because I am part of an international network of crazy people who take pictures of food.

So, it's been quite the senses-overload type of day. I'm quite exhausted by it all. You know, in a good way. I think I'll crawl into bed, and hopefully I'll have a tasty dream about Jean Reno in a Batman suit.....

21 June 2005

On Sunday it was very hot and sunny in London, about 85F, and I had to wait for a friend arriving from the States. I sat in the scorching sun drinking rum smoothies. (Pineapple, coconut & banana juice, lots of ice, lots of rum, and a scoop of ice cream - whizz in the blender, pour over ice. Instant cool bliss.)

My friend's flight was delayed so by the time she got here I was a bit tipsy. Poor thing, while I was sitting getting tanned and tanked, she was having a transportation nightmare from Heathrow. The Express trains weren't running, so she had to get the Piccadilly line into town - all 400 stops. Half way there she got sick and threw up on the tube! Then she fell backwards down the escalator at Kings Cross. And then she was sick in the taxi. I put her to bed immediately.

Later we got up and went to see William Whitmore play in Brixton at the Windmill. I drank a bunch of cider and got drunk and belligerent. All my photos turned out crap.

I felt terrible this morning but a brunch at Banner's nearly sorted me out. Omlette with sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, and Banner's potatoes. It's good to feel human again.

10 May 2005

Just got back from a wonderful trip to Budapest. Don't want to go back to work! No! Don't make me! Okay, I will. Soon. Honest.

Here's a photo of me looking relaxed. Will post more later.

Info : Me at Arvany Kaviar restaurant in Buda. The best meal we had while we were there. I ate Beluga caviar for the first time and became immediately addicted. Thanks due to Laslo, our wonderful concierge. Now I understand what a concierge is supposed to be all about. PS Julie had the booze shakes and couldn't hold the camera still.

27 April 2005

Sometimes it just takes a while to realise these things, but I have now decided most definitely that my favourite smell in the entire world is... tomato vines. Not the actual tomato itself, you see, but the vine that you pluck it off. I am fairly certain that the Turkish men in the shop near my house think I'm either insane, or some kind of a fruit pervert, because I keep sniffing and fondling their stock. I don't mind. It's worth it. I wish I could find a perfume that had the same smell.....